“Humiliating? Yes. But it actually turned out all right. Afterward we crashed somebody’s wedding, and we danced and talked and looked at the stars, and I did feel something else, for a little while, at least.” I sigh. “And then this morning happened.”

“Yeah, well, we were blindsided by Pop.”

“He really could have warned us. Of course, I basically told him to do something exactly like that, the last time I spoke to him.”

Suddenly Afton laughs, a choked-up, husky laugh—a kind of sound I’ve never heard come out of her before. She puts her hand over her mouth to try to hold it in, but it just keeps tumbling out, making the board underneath us tremble.

“I bet he never tries to surprise us again,” she titters.

I laugh, too. “Let’s hope not.”

“And Marjorie was just sitting there like she was at the movies having popcorn,” Afton says, wiping what I hope are laugh tears from her eyes. “Did you hear her? No way, Jerry. I want to see how this turns out.”

We laugh and laugh, until we’re tired and our sides hurt. I sigh and put my hand on Afton’s shoulder.

“I can’t say I forgive you,” I say.

“I can’t say I blame you.”

“I want to forgive you, though.”

“Okay.”

I nod solemnly. “I’ll probably only hold this over your head for another twenty or twenty-five years, tops.”

“That seems fair.”

“The thing is, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. Also, we’re sisters, and that, unfortunately, is an unbreakable bond. Like forever.” I hold out my pinkie to her.

“Sisters forever,” she whispers, shaking my pinkie with hers.

We hug then, because of course it is a requirement of sisterhood, but it turns out that hugging is more than we can manage while still balancing on the paddleboard. We go right over into the water.

I come up sputtering. “Shit.” I grab for the paddle, which is floating away.

“Ada, look!” Afton says excitedly.

“Get it!” I order.

But she isn’t looking at the paddle. She’s gazing down in the water below us. “It’s a turtle,” she says in a soft voice, like it will disappear if it hears us.

I stop. “Shut up,” I say, the affectionate kind of shut up, though, meaning, you can’t be serious.

She points down.

There, only a few feet beneath us in the pale clear water, is a massive sea turtle.

“Oh my dog,” I whisper.

Its shell is a red-brown color, segmented into thirteen large sections that each bear a starburst pattern with hash marks of golden and lemon and white. Its fins and head are darker—almost black, and threaded with pure white, which makes it look like it’s paved with cobblestones. It’s gorgeous. I’ll never be able to do it justice in a painting in a million years.